Page 54 of Paper Roses

“S-supporting you,” he slurs. “Isn’t that what a very good spouse does? Like putting out your slippers and your p-pipe.”

“I’m trying not to smoke anymore.” I try a lecherous wink. “Well, not unless I’m on fire.” Something about that strikes me as funny, and I laugh.

Artie laughs too, and I’m not sure in the end who’s holding the other one up, just that we’re standing very close together.

Finally, after the giggles have eased, we stagger up the steps holding on to the railing. I nearly hit my head on the door as Artie sticks his hand into my jeans pocket.

“What are youdoing?” I didn’t know my voice could go that high.

“Looking for the key,” he says very seriously and slowly. “It must be here somewhere.”

“You won’t find it in there. JesusChrist,” I squeak as his fingers find my cock. “Definitely not there.”

“What’s this?” he mutters. “It’s too big for a key.”

I snort. “You’re so good for my ego.” My cock is pulsing, and I shove closer to his hand, grunting as he strokes it. It feels like lightning in my balls, and something is telling me this is a bad idea, but I can’t for the life of me work out why—not when he’s so close and I can smell his sweet scent, and his hand has the perfect pressure.

I lose my balance as he suddenly squeals and pulls his hand out my pocket. He reels back against the door like he’s been shot. I look around anxiously, but there’s no sign of an intruder.

“Oh my god,” he says loudly. “I just had my hand on yourpenis.”

“I thought you meant to do it.” That strikes me as tremendously funny, and once again, I’m laughing helplessly.

“Your cock was in my hand,” he says, staring at his palm as if my cock might materialise there.

“Why is that a surprise?” I move towards him, but come up short when something stops me. I twist and turn, struggling to get free, panic seizing me. “Help,” I shout. “Help.” Then I realiseit’s my jumper caught on the doorknob. “Oh no. Don’t worry,” I call as I free myself. “Everything is okay. Everything isgreat.”

“My fingers were wrapped around your penis,” Artie mutters.

“Wasn’t that the point?”

He blinks. “Well no. I was looking for the key. I thought I was searching in my own pocket. I didn’t expect to find a stray cock in there.” We exchange glances, and he breaks into peals of laughter. “Stray cock,” he splutters. “Cluck cluck.”

It takes us ages to get ourselves together, but finally Artie finds the key and opens the door. I lurch through it into the hallway aware of him following me. “God, it’s spooky in here.”

For some reason, I’m elongating my O’s and it makes me sound like Scooby Doo. I start to laugh but then stop because it definitely feels spooky in here. Everywhere is so dark. Then I realise I haven’t turned on the lights and hasten to rectify the fact.

Artie turns to me, blinking in the sudden glare of light. “What’s that song?”

I realise I’ve been humming absentmindedly and then brighten. “It’s Frank Sinatra’s ‘Strangers in the Night’.”

He stares at me, his eyes so big he looks like a cartoon Artie. “I like it.”

“Do you really?” I lift my hand and draw my fingers through his hair. It’s soft on my skin, and I feel a powerful urge to pull him closer.

“Yes.” He gives a loud sigh as I hug him. His body is slender and warm, and I want to live inside him.

“What’s the matter?” I demand, ever ready and happy to make it better. “What’s the matter?” I repeat when he doesn’t answer.

“I’ll never get a bloke. I’m soboring.”

Blood roars in my ears when I think of him with another bloke. “You arenotboring,” I say fiercely.

“I can’t help it. I just like that old-style music and old films. I’ve always wanted to dance like onStrictly Come Dancing.”

“You likeStrictly?” I breathe.

He flashes a glance at me. “See what I mean? I suppose you think that’s silly and?—”

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